Four Walls

Looking around, I see four walls.
The walls are flat and barren.
In each wall is a door.
All the doors are locked.
I have a knife with me, a butter knife.
There must be a way out.
Can I use the instrument of senseless bread buttering?
Maybe to jimmy the locks on the doors.
Or maybe to impale myself on.
Either way it will be slow and painful.
I could just be an apathetic bum.
Nobody but me exists.
“Can you help me out with a cigarette?”, I’ll say.
But that’s so selfish.
There’s always somebody less fortunate than me.
He could use a cigarette, too.
I just have to realize that the four walls are there.
They are my life.
In a way, they are everybody’s life.
Some people know how to open the doors easier than others.
No one can please these people.
They can take everything I have and not be complete.
Even my sanity.
If I just had someone to talk to, anyone.
Just one more voice besides the ones in my head.
Even if it was uncontrolled sobbing.
I would keep it company.
It would be my security blanket.
Until the four-walled universe was finally unlocked.
And I am let out of my misery.
Then I can face reality and live life once again.

Rick S.
(Aged 17)